


Some Say the World

by favouriterecord



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 06:38:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/favouriterecord/pseuds/favouriterecord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life after the events of "Mockingjay" isn't easy for anyone. Gale Hawthorne is having a rough time, and Peeta Mallark is the last person he wants to see.</p><p>Note: Eventual Gale/Peeta/Katniss.</p><p>The title is from "Fire and Ice," by Robert Frost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Say the World

The TV was tuned to the current event broadcast. A neutral, steady newscaster’s voice rang through the small white hospital room.

“In happier news, Head Peacekeeping Trainer Gale Hawthorne has been recovered and is now recuperating in hospital.”

A video of Gale, smiling through an explanation at a press conference six months ago, appeared on the screen.

“Hawthorne, who also serves as a Minister on Panem’s Justice Committee, was kidnapped two weeks ago while preparing a Peacekeeper Fitness Course in the outlying lands near District 2.

"Four suspects have been apprehended. These include 22-year-old Jayson Meadows, 23-year-old Raine Travers, 22-year-old Ande Pine, and 35-year old Quinn Bale. The suspects belong to the vigilante fringe group called Project Revenge, which is most well-known for its recent bloody protests to the repeal of the death penalty in Panem.

"Hawthorne was rescued by Peacekeeping Forces in District 2 this morning. He is listed in stable condition at this time.”

*

“Thanks, but I can do this,” Gale said, taking his shoe from the nurse and leaning down to tie it. It hurt; this was the side they’d shot in order to capture him, and although the infection was gone, the wound in his left thigh was not yet healed. The nurse clucked and shook her head, but let him tie the shoe himself.

Gale moved to get up, but the nurse gestured him to a wheelchair. He made a token protest, but the truth was that he didn’t feel up to walking much yet. He’d begun physical therapy in the hospital and could now walk from one end of the hallway to the other without assistance, but by the end of that short trip he usually found that his leg was sore and his lungs were burning. The one time he’d tried to make it further he’d nearly collapsed, and that hadn’t been any fun at all

His kidnappers had been planning to kill him, but they were also testing a new biological weapon—a poison that, when inhaled by the victim, did slow but steady damage to most of the organ systems. According to the doctors, Gale sustained damage to his lungs, heart, and kidneys. Most of the damage had been repaired in hospital; however, because the poison was inhaled, Gale’s lungs had sustained the worst of the damage. The doctors were uncertain whether they would ever fully heal.

Gale sighed and moved to the wheelchair. He was taken to a private exit, where his transport was waiting.

*

He’d known he would be driven to the safe house by one of his peacekeepers, and he was prepared to see a guard or two in transit as well. He was not prepared for the man in the third seat.

Peeta Mallark was sitting in the back of the transport.

He looked healthy—perhaps a little stronger than Gale remembered him, even. His eyes were clear, not clouded over in confusion as they had been a few short months ago, and he was looking directly at Gale.  
  
Gale felt himself scowl. His muscles tensed. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

Peeta held a hand to help him into the transport, but Gale ignored it and hoisted himself up, suppressing a wince at the twinge in his leg.

Once in his seat, he looked at Peeta again. “What,” he said through clenched teeth, “are you doing here?”

Peeta looked uncertain, but his voice was firm when he answered. “Katniss sent me.”

It was not the response that Gale expected, and it was the one response that he was unable to argue with. Peeta would know that, too, which may have been why he’d chosen it. He now had Gale’s full attention. “What do you mean?” Gale asked.

“We heard when you went missing. She was…” Peeta paused, as if looking for the right word. Or perhaps he was deciding how much Gale deserved to hear. Gale was not ashamed to admit that he wanted to hear **everything**. “She was frantic, Gale. She wanted to come out here, to look for you herself. We’ve been communicating with President Paylor’s people daily since you disappeared. Sometimes more than once a day.” Peeta paused, then continued. “We heard two days ago that you’d been rescued and were in hospital. We were so relieved. Katniss was so relieved. She wanted… She pulled some strings, and we found out what they did to you.”

Shit. That meant Katniss knew everything. He had thought she would never find out. He had hoped to protect her from this. Worse, it meant that Peeta knew everything, which stung at Gale’s pride. “It should all heal,” Gale said, shrugging.

“Right. Right. Katniss was considerably more upset than that, I think. She wanted to come out here and see you, but she’s still technically not allowed to leave District 12. So she sent me.”

Katniss had wanted to come. Gale pushed back the sudden longing that news brought—He couldn’t help but imagine what might have happened if she had come. She’d be sitting where Peeta was now. Maybe she would reach for him and take his hand. He missed her hands. He missed a lot of things.

Gale pushed that back, and looked at Peeta. “How is she?” he asked. He shouldn’t ask, he knew, but he was tired and sore and Peeta was here. Peeta would know hundreds of things about Katniss. They were living together, he had heard—So Peeta would know everything from what she looked like first thing in the morning to how long it took her to fall asleep each night. Gale wanted just a little bit of information, at least. It had been so long since he’d heard anything about her, though he sometimes asked around.  
  
Peeta appeared to think about it. “Better. She’s definitely better. She’s hunting now, a few times a week. She’s eating okay. She’s trying to learn to cook, but she’s mostly terrible at it.” Peeta smiled. “She spends time with Haymitch and Greasy Sae, and sometimes even picks up the phone when Dr. Aurelius calls. She still has nightmares, but maybe slightly less often now… It’s… Well. It’s not perfect, but she even smiles sometimes.” Peeta looked away. “She smiled less when you were missing. She hunted more, too.” He looked back at Gale. “She’s glad you’re alive. I am, too.”

Gale closed his eyes, soaking that in. Katniss was smiling sometimes, now. She was hunting. She had worried when he was missing. She’d sent Peeta here. It was the most he had heard about her in months. He tried to memorize the information—It might get him through some long nights, later. “Thank you,” he said. “Why did she send you?”

“She wanted to come herself, but that idea didn’t go far. Her confinement to District 12 will be renegotiated next year, but not before. She asked me to come, instead. I’m supposed to help you out while you’re healing—Make sure you’re eating well, and resting enough. She said to watch out, because you won’t rest if I don’t make you.”

Gale chuckled. “She might be right.” His smile faded. Katniss had wanted to come to him. His chest hurt, now, and not from the lung damage. She’d sent Peeta, of all people—Peeta, whom Gale had hated, during Katniss’ first Games, more than he’d ever hated anyone except Snow. But things had been different after Peeta was rescued from the Capitol a few months ago. He resented Peeta often now, but he couldn’t hate him. “I don’t need a babysitter, though,” Gale warned.

Peeta nodded. “I get that. But maybe you could use a friend?”

Gale had a feeling this was going to hurt. It would be a constant reminder of what he had done, and what he had lost. But Peeta had a sense of humour, and he had stories and news about Katniss, and Gale had trouble walking more than 100 paces without a rest. A coworker had told Gale recently that he needed to learn to compromise, that not everything was always black and white. Gale got that, sort of. He made eye contact with Peeta. “A friend might be okay,” he said.

*

They were dropped off at a safe house near District 1. It wasn’t much more than a cottage, really. It appeared to be one large room, sparsely furnished with a single bed, a well-stocked kitchen, and a table.

Gale walked to the back, looking out the large window. The sun was setting, casting red-orange beams across a large lake behind the house. There were trees, too—Some kinds that Gale recognized, and some varieties that had never grown in District 12. Gale hadn’t expected to recover anywhere quite so idyllic, but he did appreciate it. Already he felt some of the tension leave his shoulders.

A peacekeeper, Cyril, was posted a number of yards up the road, but the house was so remote that the odds of anyone else making it here were quite slim.

“Probably not quite what you signed up for, is it?” Gale asked Peeta, when they had been left on their own.

Peeta’s brow furrowed. “It’s great, actually,” he said. “It feels kind of like home.”

“Like the Victor’s Village?” Gale scoffed.

“I meant my old home, actually… Before the Games. But that too, I suppose. I like the view. It’s quite a lot like 12, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Gale said. He scanned the room for light switches. “Quite a lot like 12, actually,” he said, seeing no electric lights. “We should light the lamps before the sun goes down.”

Peeta smiled. “Just like old times.”

When the lamps were lit, Gale sat by the table and unpacked the supplies the hospital had sent. He lay out the ointments and bandages, and then carefully but quickly ripped off the existing bandage on his thigh. The wound had clotted while he was in the hospital, and it was no longer bleeding profusely; but the injured flesh was red and raw and seeped yellow and clear fluid.

Gale suppressed a grimace as he smoothed the salve into the wound. Peeta didn’t suppress his, wincing in apparent sympathy.

“Does it hurt much?” he asked.

“Some, when I move. Not much when I’m still,” Gale replied shortly.

“I would have thought they could have gotten you a healing salve, from the old Capitol stores.”

“There’s still a short supply, since the war. They’re being meted out only as needed. My leg will heal, with time, provided it doesn’t get infected. This stuff,” he gestured “is enough to prevent infection.”

“And the better salves?”

“They’re saved for those who might not survive without them,” Gale replied. He was re-bandaging the wound, now, taping it all into place. He yawned.

“You tired?” Peeta asked.

“I could probably sleep.”

“Me too. It’s been a long day. You take the bed; I’ve got a bedroll.”

Gale hesitated, but he was tired.  He had not asked Peeta to be here, either, so it was not as though Peeta were his guest. He nodded and moved to the bed.

*

Gale woke abruptly to a noise, instantly ready to fight or flee. His muscles tensed and his thigh burned slightly as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Scanning the room, though, he saw only Peeta on his bedroll by the fire.

“No. No,” Peeta whimpered in his sleep. He lay on his side, facing Gale, tangled in the sheets to his waist. His eyes were closed and his brow furrowed.

Gale leaned forward. “Peeta,” he said. No response. Gale rose and took a few steps, leaning over the bedroll. “Peeta,” he said again, louder this time. Peeta gasped and opened his eyes, looking blankly at Gale. “Hey,” Gale said. “You awake?”

Peeta turned his head. looking down, and rubbed at his eyes. “Yeah,” he said shortly. “Sorry.”

“You okay? Nightmare?”

“Yeah.” Peeta sat upright and looked down at his hands, where his fists were clenched. He then unclenched them purposefully, and began methodically untangling himself from the sheets, but his hands were shaking.

Gale almost reached to help, but thought better of it and took a couple steps back to sit on his bed. “You need anything?”

Peeta looked up, shook his head, and then paused. “I tried to kill Katniss once,” he said.

“Real,” Gale responded immediately, before realizing it wasn’t a question. It was only that this—being with Peeta, waking in the middle of the night to find him here—reminded him of the mission to the Capitol and the night they’d spent in Tigris’ shop. Their “real or not real” game had become second nature over those days, and Gale was pretty sure that playing it had helped the rest of them as much as it had helped Peeta.

Peeta had asked a lot of questions about District 12—Some sad questions, yes, but also a lot of fun, silly ones. He’d asked about the colour of Katniss’ dress when she’d sung in front of the school the winter she was 15. He’d confirmed the name of the teacher who’d always, annoyingly, hummed during final tests. He’d even asked what the sunrise had looked like from the east end of the District. Those questions more than anything had kept Gale grounded, had reminded him that there was still some good in the world even as hate had threatened to overwhelm him.

Gale took a breath. “I mean, yes. You did try to kill her. But you weren’t yourself. You’d been tortured.”

“I dream about it, sometimes. I remember how my hands felt around her throat. I can’t believe I wanted to kill her.”

“You didn’t know what you were doing.”

“She’s everything I always wanted, Gale. Everything. And in my dreams sometimes I do kill her—Bogg isn’t there. Haymitch isn’t there, nobody’s there, and I crush her throat with my hands and she never breathes again. If I’m capable of that…”

“You’re not.”

“I wanted to. I remember how much I wanted to hurt her. I burned for it, needed it.”

“You were hijacked, Peeta. That wasn’t you. Think about her now. Would you hurt her?”

“Not now. Not like that. I would never try to hurt her. But I’ve been living with her for months, and she’s not… She misses Prim, a lot. Sometimes I feel like she’s drowning and I can’t save her,” Peeta confessed.

“You try, though.”

“Yes. Every time. It’s just not enough. I often think she needs someone who knew Prim, who loved Prim too,” Peeta said.

Gale scoffed, a little. “There’s no shortage of people from Districts 12 and 13 who loved Prim.”

“Of course not. She was a sweet kid and about as brave as Katniss, in her own way. But not everyone loved her like you and Katniss do. You loved Prim like family.”

Gale blinked. He’d had no idea that Peeta had seen that. Katniss had been almost entirely unresponsive immediately after Prim’s death, while Gale had just kept on. He’d worked and fought and ate food that he’d barely tasted, all the while wondering if he’d ultimately been responsible for the death of his best friend’s little sister. He had wanted so badly to talk to Katniss in those days, but he hadn’t.

Actually, he should be honest with himself. He still wanted badly to talk to Katniss.

Gale gathered up his blankets and noisily turned away from Peeta, facing the wall where he could feign sleep.

“She misses you,” Peeta said.

“Good night,” replied Gale.

*

The days at the safe house passed slowly, peacefully. Peeta baked and they both cooked. Gale took longer and longer walks around the cottage, managing further each time before he got out of breath. They played appalling games of chess (neither of them was any good) and cut-throat games of horseshoes and Go. Go was especially entertaining, especially when they began to understand and adapt to each other’s styles. Peeta was too cautious, and he paid for it sometimes—But Gale took risks that often got him into trouble, and Peeta capitalized on that without fail.

They practiced archery, a little—Peeta had improved vastly with Katniss’s help, and they were now quite well matched.

They talked—about life in their respective Districts, about the war, about people they’d lost, and sometimes (rarely)… about Katniss. Gale was loath to admit it, and sometimes hated himself for it, but he clung to every word about her.

Gale hunted one day, but was so exhausted by the activity that Peeta carried the prey most of the way home. Gale slept a lot, and spent long hours basking in the sun, tying knots and building snares while Peeta drew pictures. It was nice, Gale acknowledged. He was frustrated that his strength was not improving more quickly, and some days he felt almost desperate to get back to his work and his trainees… But really, at least sometimes, it was nice.

*

Almost a week into their stay, the day dawned bright and warm. The little cabin got warmer and warmer as the morning went on, and Gale began to feel oddly trapped in his own skin. He’d moved to sit by the open window when it began to get hot, but even that didn’t help his restlessness. His leg was beginning to heal, but it was itching badly. Gale was careful to keep the wound site clean, which threw the rest of his skin (covered in layers of dust and grime) into stark contrast.

“I’m going to the lake,” Gale announced. Peeta, who had been kneading bread by the stove, stopped and turned around. He wiped his hands off on a towel and came to Gale’s chair.

“The lake, hm?” Peeta said.

“Oh, come on. I’m dirty and hot and my leg itches like crazy. I’ll use the waterproof bandages and everything. I just want to get clean.” Gale felt rather than heard the desperation creeping into his voice on the last few words.

“Sounds like a plan. Let me set the dough out for rising, and then we’ll do the new bandages.”

Gale nodded. 

It was good that the lake was nearby. Even with Peeta and his crutch for support, Gale’s leg was so weak that he was shaking by the time he got deep enough to sit and submerge himself to his chest. They sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the cool water. Gale washed himself, a little. The lake felt amazing, and soon Gale felt strong enough to swim a few strokes, careful to avoid using his bad leg too much. Peeta watched.

“You can swim?” he asked.

“A little. You?”

“Not at all,” Peeta grimaced. “Remember the Quarter Quell?”

Gale nodded. He had watched every moment, unable to tear himself away. “I can teach you, if you like,” he offered.

“I won’t be very good,” Peeta warned.

“Wouldn’t be worth teaching, if you were,” replied Gale.

Peeta learned surprisingly fast, actually. He took easily to the strokes, and his strength was a definite benefit. His artificial leg was of little use, but his arms were strong and his form was excellent. He struggled with opening his eyes under water, though, and thus had a tendency to get off track and then correct when swimming toward a target.

“It gets easier,” Gale said. “Try to keep them open for longer each time, though. It won’t hurt.”

Peeta nodded. “Things look weird down there. Light doesn’t move right. I should paint it, so I understand it better,” he said. He moved to float on his back, still looking at Gale. “Hey, how’s your leg?”

“Good. Bandages are holding up.”

“Perfect,” said Peeta, and he suddenly kicked hard with his good leg, sending a storm of water toward Gale.

Gale sputtered. Oh, of all the things… He felt his brows knitting together in anger, and took two quick steps toward Peeta… And then he grinned. He retaliated by sweeping his arm across the surface of the water from a short distance, soaking Peeta again.

Peeta dove toward him, trying to pull him under, and they splashed and wrestled in the shallow water.

At one point, Gale was holding Peeta’s wrists and trying to dunk him as Peeta kicked. Gale was tired, but this was the most activity he’d had in days and he was thoroughly enjoying it. He pushed Peeta’s head under the water for a second, then let him up, still holding his wrists. Peeta was laughing.

Peeta shook his head, purposefully shaking water droplets, still struggling, and Gale laughed too, so hard he had trouble catching his breath from it. Actually, he was having a lot of trouble catching his breath. The twinge in his chest that he’d felt since he’d been poisoned quickly transformed in to a heavy weight. Shit, he thought suddenly. This isn’t right. This is very much not right.

Within twenty seconds he was doubled over, wheezing. His forehead bumped Peeta’s shoulder, but he was too focused on the impossible task of trying to get enough oxygen to care.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t get enough air in. He was only vaguely aware of Peeta sitting him up. He must have let go of Peeta’s wrists, at some point. “Hey, whoa. Okay, okay, you’re going to be fine,” he heard. Peeta sounded strange, but the words made sense. Gale nodded, gasping.

“Yeah, good. Good. In and out, that’s better,” Peeta said. Like an effect of Peeta’s words, Gale noticed it in fact it **was** slightly better. The vise on his lungs was still there, but it was marginally easier to get oxygen in. “There you go. Yeah, that’s right. You’re gonna be just fine,” Peeta said. Gale focused intently on breathing in. He managed three breaths. Four. Six.

He was still in the water, he noticed. He was sitting straight and leaning back slightly against Peeta’s chest. Peeta had one arm part way around his waist, anchoring him, and the other on his shoulder. Gale coughed. He thought about saying something, but he wasn’t sure there was enough air. Peeta seemed to be preoccupied with feeling for the rise and fall of his chest, anyway.

“Good. Good, that’s better. Keep on like this, in and out,” Peeta said. Gale nodded. He took a few more breaths, and the vice on his chest loosened slightly. He kept breathing. After a few more moments, he felt like there was enough air to speak.

“Thanks,” Gale croaked.

“Hey, no. Just breathe, don’t… Don’t thank me, I didn’t … Just. Keep breathing. A couple more minutes and we’ll get out of the water.”

Gale nodded. Breathing was easier, but not yet easy. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he stopped actively trying to get air in, but he had a feeling it might not be good. He kept breathing.

“Okay. Only speak if you’re sure you can breathe through it. If not, we’ll wait. How is it now?” Peeta asked.

“Better,” Gale said. He paused and took another breath.  “Can probably move.”

“Okay,” Peeta said. “Let’s try moving to shore. Slowly, though, and let me help you.” He moved his hand from Gale’s shoulder and ran it along his back comfortingly before settling it around his waist.

They walked slowly through the surf to the beach, pausing whenever Gale felt out of breath—Sometimes that meant resting every few steps. Once they were on land, Peeta left him propped against a rock and retrieved their towels. He tossed Gale a towel, and then started to dry himself. Gale wrapped himself up in the fabric, letting that and the bright sun start to dry him off.  When Peeta was dry, he squatted on the sand in front of Gale.  “How’re you doing?” he asked.

“Well, I’m clean, at least,” Gale said, managing a smile.

Peeta smiled back, but didn’t let him off the hook that easily. He touched a hand to Gale’s chest. “How about here?”

“Much better. Breathing feels almost normal now. It’s a bit hard to get a deep breath, but I can manage.”

Peeta looked thoughtful. “You said that without gasping, which is probably a good sign. Ready to head up, now? We’ll try slow, just like before.”

“Ready,” Gale said determinedly, securing his towel around his neck and his arm over Peeta’s shoulder. It was slow and exhausting, and by the time Gale got to the cabin he all but collapsed on Peeta’s bedroll, which was nearer to the door.

“Sleep now,” said Gale, eyes already closing.

“Yeah,” said Peeta. “Sleep well.”

*

Gale woke to the smell of fresh baked bread. He blinked open his eyes and saw Peeta by the stove, tearing large greens into shreds for the meal. Gale sat up and took a deep breath, pleased when he was able to do so. His chest felt much better.

“Hey,” said Peeta, looking over.

“Hey,” replied Gale. “Sorry about that. Breathing’s fine now.”

“That’s good. I spoke with Cyril; they’re sending a doctor from District One. She should arrive some time tomorrow.”

“There’s no need. I just moved around too much at once. It’ll be fine now.”

Peeta raised an eyebrow. “You really have no idea, do you? You were turning **blue** , Gale. I won’t watch that happen again.”

“It’s fine. We don’t need the doctor; she can be of more use in One.”

Peeta scowled at him. “She’s needed here.”

“I said there’s no need.”

Peeta marched over. His face was set in a furious mask, but his voice was calm. “Say that all you want. You’re not the one who would have to explain to Katniss how you died of lack of air on my watch. She’s lost too many already. We’ve all lost too many. I won’t let that happen.”

Gale wavered, then steeled himself. “We haven’t spoken in months, Peeta. You act as though she’d be heartbroken. I’d be surprised if she even minded.”

Peeta laughed, but the sound was grim and without humour. “Like you wouldn’t mind if she died? What would you do to me, if she suffocated in my arms and I did nothing?”

That was cruel. “You love her. You’d never let anything happen to her.”

“And if I did? If she told me she was fine and I just shrugged and said okay?”

“I’d want to kill you.”

“Funny. That’s what she said she’d like to do to Quinn Bale, the last time I saw her. They started reporting on his trial the same day I came out here, you know. You and Katniss are more alike than you think.”

Gale pulled himself to his feet. This obviously meant something to Peeta. Maybe he could make it quick, so the doctor could get back to District One and be of more use quickly. “I’ll see the doctor, if you want,” he offered.

“I want,” Peeta replied, eyes troubled. He went back to the kitchen and resumed tearing the greens into pieces. They ate in silence that night.

*

The doctor arrived in the morning. She was short and thin and young, with the wheat-coloured hair and hazel eyes so common in District Nine. She smiled at Gale, but looked tired and overworked. Most doctors were still overworked these days—The sick and injured from the war still needed care, and there was still enough unrest in parts of Panem to keep the clinics and hospitals busy with injured citizens.

“Sorry to make you come all this way, Doctor,” said Gale.

“It was my pleasure, Minister Hawthorne,” she said brusquely, rummaging in her medical bag. “I was sorry to hear you were captured. That must have been quite the ordeal.”

“I’ve had better times, for sure,” Gale said with a smile.

“I’d like to listen to your lungs, first,” she said. Gale nodded.

“I’m all yours,” he said.

After a number of tests, the doctor put her things away. She was frowning, her brow furrowed.

“What did they tell you in hospital, about your lungs?”

“They were damaged from the Anthrakine. They may never fully recover.”

She nodded. “My tests are consistent with that. We sometimes call it Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease, and in your case it’s caused by the Anthrakine inhalation. It sounds like you had an attack or flare-up yesterday—You felt short of breath all of a sudden?”

“Yeah. We were just in the water and I suddenly couldn’t breathe well.”

“Were you at all nervous or worked up, first?”

“Not nervous. But we were… swimming and kind of horsing around? It was more fun than I’ve had in awhile.”

“More exercise, too?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“That can happen. You may need to work up very gradually with the exercise, especially as you’re recovering. Intense exercise may trigger an attack again.”

“And it… won’t get better?”

“No. It doesn’t improve over time, unfortunately, and we have treatments to manage it but no cure yet.” The doctor reached for Gale, her eyes kind. “I know this is hard to hear.”

“It’s fine, Doc. I’m glad to have the truth.”

“I’d like to teach you how to manage it. I have two inhalers here—a maintenance inhaler and a rescue inhaler," she said.

Gale took a breath, made a fist so hard it almost hurt, and nodded. He listened.

*

Peeta was quiet while the doctor was there. He had offered to leave, but Gale had waved off his hesitation and told him to stay. Once the doctor left, he approached Gale… But Gale didn’t want to talk. Gale also didn’t want to eat, play a game, walk, go to the lake, or hunt.

It was a quiet day. Gale sat in silence at the table. In the early evening, Peeta went to catch fish. When he came back, Gale was outside, still sitting silent and unmoving.

“I got three trout,” Peeta said, smiling a little. “How about you start cleaning them while I make the fire up?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“What?”

“I don’t really want dinner. Just make for yourself.”

“You didn’t have lunch, either.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s **not** okay. What is wrong with you today?”

“You know what’s wrong,” Gale said bleakly.

“No, I don’t. I know the doctor gave you some medicines to help with your lungs, and now you’re sitting here like a corpse. I don't know why.”

“You heard what she said. I’m going to be chained to this stupid inhaler  **thing** for the rest of my life. No running, no peacekeeping… What’s left, Peeta?”

“What’s left?” Peeta looked angry, but mostly exhausted. “We’ve all lost things. That’s no reason to give up. You’re alive, Gale Hawthorne. It’s about time you started acting like it.”

“Alive for what, exactly? A job I’m useless at now? Is that what I’m supposed to be grateful for?” Gale’s hands were shaking, but his voice was calm. He put his hands in his pockets.

“Sure. Or how about for the family you kept alive? Or the fact that your leg will heal? Or the dozens of people who love you who are still here? Are any of those things worth keeping? Or do you just forget them because you’re sad one thing isn’t going well for you?”

“This isn’t just one thing,” Gale said. How could he even express this? Everything he had was because he’d fought and worked and kept people safe. He needed to be strong to do that. If his lungs didn’t work, and he couldn’t fight… What good would he be then? He turned half away from Peeta. “It’s everything. I’ve lost everything.”

“Fine,” said Peeta tightly. He moved so Gale could see him, his expression furious and hurt. “I get it. You’ve lost everything. Poor Gale,” he said, and the last phrase would have been mocking if not for the anger in his voice. “In that case, there’s not much I can do here, is there?”

“I guess not,” Gale said.

“Right. Fine. I’m going home.” Peeta’s eyes ran searchingly over Gale’s face.

Gale’s fists clenched. He felt fire in his glare. “Great. Have fun in Twelve.”

Peeta turned and went inside.

That wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Gale found himself suddenly, desperately missing Katniss. She’d always known what to do when he felt like this. When he was hurting badly, she’d always done the right thing, even if she had left afterward. He’d told her once that he only got her attention when he was in pain. That was true. But he hadn’t told her how much even that meant to him.

He smiled harshly. It was like how Prim had trained her goat, Lady, to come to her when she tapped the bottom of a bucket. Lady heard tapping, and went to find food. Gale felt pain and desperately wanted Katniss. But Katniss wasn’t here.

And now Peeta was leaving. Bastard. He couldn’t believe they’d fucked this up so badly. Peeta wasn’t supposed to **leave**. Gale was probably going to spend the rest of his life crippled; how was that not worth a little bit of sympathy? Katniss wouldn’t have left. She would have sat with him awhile and talked about it, made him think it through… She might even have kissed him until his anger faded, until she was all he could think about.

Peeta was apparently an entirely different kind. Gale had wondered whether he might sit and talk with him about it. He’d wondered if Peeta might even have tried to comfort him… If maybe he would run his hand down Gale’s back, like he’d done out by the lake the other day, when Gale couldn't breathe. Apparently not.

It didn’t matter. Gale would be just fine on his own, and this way Peeta would get to go home to 12, and to Katniss. That was how it should be anyway. Gale nodded, steeling himself, and walked inside.

Peeta was putting the last of his things into a bag. “There’s enough meat in the icebox for a few meals,” he said. “Cans of Capitol food in the cupboard, too. Let Cyril know if you need anything,” he said stiffly.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Right, of course.” He looked around the room.  “I think that’s everything.”

Gale looked, too. “Yeah,” he replied, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Okay, I’m off. Take care of yourself, yeah?”

“Always do,” Gale said matter-of-factly.

Peeta headed for the door.

“Hey, um. You take care of yourself too,” Gale added belatedly.

Peeta turned his head, met Gale’s eyes for a split second, and walked out.


End file.
